More Than Always (Book II of the Love Always series)

More Than Always

(Book II of the Love Always series)

By Jacinta Howard




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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.





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Then.



Brian Jace stared at the blood that covered his hands and wondered if he was a murderer.

He backed away from the limp body lying on the filthy bathroom floor and examined his bruised and dirty hands, his breath coming in quick spurts. The red thickness was under his fingernails, concentrated on his knuckles. His hands were starting to throb as the adrenaline that was pumping through his system just forty-five seconds ago dissolved into fear.

He stopped looking at his hands and approached the body again, bending down quickly to place a hand under his nostrils. He sighed. Puffs of air were coming from the man’s chapped, bloody lips so at least he was still breathing. He was grateful he hadn’t killed him but seeing that he was alive rekindled the anger that had forced him to beat him to a bloody pulp in the first place. He backed up again quickly, before the fury overtook him a second time.

As he turned, he caught a glimpse of himself in the soiled bathroom mirror, his reflection dulled by the weeks of dirt and streaks that gathered on the glass because none of the employees cared enough to clean it properly.

His face was clean except for the day’s worth of stubble he allowed to cover his strong jaw. The guy had tried to connect with his nose, but Brian was too fast for the older man, and obviously too strong.

Actually, he knew he had more than youth and agility on his side when he’d beaten him down—he had years’ worth of anger. And if anyone knew what accumulated, unreleased, untreated rage could drive a person to do, it was him.

Brian heard the man starting to come to. He bent over the sink, squeezed a palm full of pink soap from the dispenser, and thoroughly washed his hands. There wasn’t much he could do about the blood splattered on his dark blue polo shirt. He dried his hands and threw the paper towel into the overflowing trash, allowing himself one last glance at the man who had first introduced his mother to crack cocaine over fifteen years ago, and had just now very nearly paid for it with his life.

He walked calmly but quickly through the crowded bar he regularly frequented after work, nodding to the pudgy bartender as he slapped a twenty on the counter before making his way to the front door.

As he pushed through the exit and stepped into the cool night air, he knew one thing for certain—it was time to get the hell out of Phoenix.





*



“Not tonight, Tamara.”

Brian watched irritation dampen Tamara’s pretty features, as she sighed and rolled her eyes, pushing herself up off of his chest. She swung her shapely legs from around his waist, flicking another annoyed glance at him as she sat up on the edge of his gray couch. They’d been dating exclusively for four months and it was as serious as he’d ever gotten with a woman.

He sighed. Tamara was a beautiful girl. Sweet, smart, caring…all of the things any man would want in a woman. He was disappointed with himself for being so restless with her, for always quietly yearning for something else.

Tonight, he knew the reason why he couldn’t bring himself to have sex with her. He’d left Larry lying crumpled on the floor in the men’s bathroom just two hours earlier and he was still unsettled about the whole thing. He hadn’t been in a fight since high school. But when Larry had slid up to him in the bathroom smiling, asking about Teresa, wondering if his druggie mom was as fine as she used to be, Brian lost it. He hadn’t been able to do anything back when Larry had first started coming around, slapping her around and eventually helping convert her into a junkie. He was just a boy.

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